Pure Fantasy is my first book by M. Eror and I really enjoyed it. It was a fast past story that kept me involved in the characters’ lives as well as the storyline. In Pure Fantasy, we meet Lana who is running away from everything that is familiar to her. She comes up with a plan to change everything. She wants new friends, a new job, a new city, and absolutely no men allowed!

That sort of made me laugh because now we know there’s going to be a man. Here is where we meet David and as much as she is determined to be man-less, he is determined that she is going to be his.

David wants to know the reasons for why Lana is running and honestly so did I. That was really the only thing that I felt like should have been addressed differently. I’m all for a little mystery in a story, but I would have liked to have some idea of what was going on.

Watching David and Lana fall for each other was so sweet. I wanted to give them both a hug. I would love to read more about this couple so, M. Eror, if you’re reading this review, can you please give us more David and Lana? 🙂

Congratulations on a great book!

“…I absolutely fell in love with the characters!” – Kat loves books

“This romance story is full of hot, steamy romance that makes you red faced and blush like nothing before. The characters are really amazing and wonderful; their love is burn down the house hot. The banter the characters have is amazing, the emotions that they also have is another huge plus, and the amount of details is magnificent. MUST READ!!!” – Whispered thoughts book blog

He covers my fingers with his while taking the shoe from my hand. My skin burns. Strange, powerful vibrations shake my entire body. This accidental touch makes my heart beat madly, and my lungs wail for air. I take a deep breath, raise my eyes but remain breathless. He’s looking at me seductively. My reaction to him has not escaped his notice. It makes him so happy. That touch was no accident. The jerk! He did it on purpose!

I want to run away, as soon as possible, so I turn on my heel.

“I want to see the label with the product details.” He says.

I look at him over my shoulder, confused, then move to hand him the box, which he could easily have taken himself. I stand beside him patiently and wait as he reads very carefully.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“I’m just checking.”

“Checking what?”

“Whether they were made in China.” He says coldly, and then raises his eyes to mine.

Made in China? What an asshole!

“We sell only Italian stuff.” I say sharply.

He smiles, his eyes fixed.

“Oh, look at those claws. I hope you’re well paid.” He speaks in a voice which shows clearly that he doesn’t believe what I say. He’s provoking me, goading me with his smile, his look, and with the way he addresses me. I count to ten, then frown, turning the box upside-down to show him the embossed label: Fatte in Italia.

“Made in Italy’s written on the box and inside the shoe as well.” I speak briskly.

He bends his head lightly, furrows his eyebrows and studies the inscription carefully, examining the letters devotedly and seriously. I lose patience because this seems to be going on for an age.

For God’s sake, it’s as if he were decoding hieroglyphics!

He shrugs, looks at me naively, and says more innocently: “I had to check, since I don’t speak Italian.